


Say My Name

by neveshyre



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:40:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22983418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveshyre/pseuds/neveshyre
Summary: A one off fluff because Loki is beautiful.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Say My Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [melanoms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanoms/gifts).



“Don’t struggle or scream.” A low voice, harsh in your ear, “We will break your arms.”

Cold metal snapped around your wrists as your arms were roughly pulled behind your back. Grasping hands gripped your upper arms painfully, then they were pushing you forward. Forcefully enough that you struggled to keep your feet under you. It was dark, cold, and the air felt strangely thin as you took several gasping breaths. You looked at the ground instead of looking up into the faces of your captors. You had gotten a glimpse of them already, when they first came out of shadows and grabbed you, a small group of men who looked hard and angry. A couple looked otherworldly, and not in the way you liked so much. 

You had been walking from your car up to your apartment, a short walk you had made hundreds of times. Tiny hairs on the back of your neck had been prickling, a quiet warning that tonight was not like other nights. You wished he had been there. You could imagine him grinning in that heart stopping way, offering his hand while murmuring “Milady...”

He would have walked you to your door, before leaving you the way he always did before. With a sweet smile that you find yourself imagining later is a smile just for you. His eyes lingering on your face, almost like he doesn’t want to go. 

But he wasn’t. You were alone tonight. 

Until you weren’t and you were surrounded by gruff voices and rough hands. They ripped your bag from your shoulder, one of them clamping his hand over your mouth. They pulled you off the stairs and into the darkened alley between buildings. It had been mere seconds between the quiet walk alone and this moment now. 

You pulled your wrists tentatively, feeling the heavy shackles they had placed there. These weren’t random bad guys with handcuffs. These were experts with restraints fit for the prey they were seeking. 

The grinding voice began again. “We don’t care about you. We just want Loki.”

You bit your lip. You never called him that. 

He didn’t introduce himself to you as Loki. When he sat with you on that park bench, as you sipped your favorite drink from the coffee shop on the corner. You’d been lost in thought, eyes on the autumn trees, heart far away. He hadn’t introduced himself at all. But you had sat together and talked for hours. In the end he had been chuckling, a low sound in his throat that you felt in your soul, when he asked you to lunch. You had every intention of agreeing, but hadn’t gotten the chance. His focus had shifted abruptly, like perhaps he heard something you didn’t. Then the wind had started blowing, clouds forming over your heads almost instantly. 

You had run your hands through your hair, gathering it and holding it down against the harsh wind. He had barely moved, only turning his face to the sky, watching with a wary expression. He hadn’t even flinched when Thor had landed powerfully beside him. You couldn’t believe it. The god of thunder, you recognized him instantly, had spoken quickly as he rose to his full height.

“Brother, we need you.”  
“Excellent entrance as always, Thor.” Came the lazy reply.  
Thor almost growled the world, “This is serious. There isn’t time for games, Loki.”

Loki. For a moment you thought that couldn’t possibly be right. You watched him, Loki, raise his hand in a placating gesture to Thor before turning to you, his eyes softening a little bit as he spoke.

“Goodbye, sweet one.”

You had been sure that was it, a random event never to be repeated. But you had been wrong. He had found you again, on that same bench a few weeks later. You had hoped for him, dreamed of him, and when he sat down beside you your heart had leapt. You had addressed him by name then, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, and his expression had darken for a moment. He wasn’t Loki of Asgard when he was with you, he had said.

“Who are you then?” You had asked, unsure, almost as breathlessly.  
“Just a man.” He had replied, his tone sharp, almost cold.

You had wanted to ask what to call him instead, but the words had caught in your throat. The tension between you had felt suffocating for a moment, pulsing with the things he left unsaid. Then he had grinned as he stood swiftly, and reached down to lead you to your feet. You felt yourself being pulled towards him by more than just his hand gently curved around yours.

“Will you walk with me, lovely one?” 

You realized immediately that names weren’t going to be a part of this dance. But several hours later when he squeezed your hand gently as he said he had to go, you knew it didn’t matter. What it would include was beautiful conversation, soft laughter, and playful teasing.

Your heart ached for that now, your fear pounding in your ears as you wondered if these men hurt you. Would it be worse? How would Loki even know what had happened to you. The hands at your arms shoved until you slammed down on your knees. 

“You’ll tell us where he is.”

You raised your eyes from the ground, looking into the scarred face of the leader. His eyes were hard, his mouth set in a firm line. You wanted to be brave, strong, just like you knew Loki would be if they were holding him to his knees. But your voice trembled anyways. 

“I don’t know where he is right now.”  
“Then you’ll contact him. Find out.”

Rough hands began to search your pockets, as you wrenched your body, trying to get away. Beside you another of the men dumped out your bag on the concrete and found what they were searching for. Your phone was passed to the leader, the hands at your hips disappearing instantly. 

“I can’t contact him.” You whispered.  
“What?” Sharp, surprised.  
“I can’t contact him. He never told me how to. He just comes to me.”  
A dark chuckle, “You had better hope he comes to you now.”

Suddenly you felt foolish. It had been months of visits. It had started off with warm to-go mugs, shared as you sat talking on that same park bench. Then he had started walking with you around the park, his fingers sometimes brushing yours as he listened to stories about your life. His smile warm as he shared little slivers of himself with you.

Eventually you had made it to lunch together, and then several dinners. Sitting across from each other, talking for hours. The last few times you had cooked him meals in your apartment. He had leaned his elbow on your kitchen counter, your cat winding around and around at his feet. You had even once shared a bottle of wine, your favorite crime drama playing softly in the background as you curled your feet up underneath yourself on the couch. Your legs had been leaning against his, your traitor of a cat snuggled and purring in Loki’s lap. His hand resting on your leg, his long fingers tracing shapes on your knee.

You had woken up alone, with a blanket tucked carefully around you. 

And then last night. 

Last night you had woken to someone insistently knocking at your door. You had crept up to the door, A knot of fear heavy in your stomach until you could hear his voice calling out to you. Low, tender, and trembling slightly with information you didn’t have context for. 

“Please, my sweet one. Please.”

You had opened the door. The rain was sheeting down and he was soaked to the skin. His we hair was curling slightly around his ears. His eyes came to yours instantly, without a word. For a long moment you just stared at each other, his expression a hard mask against his emotions. A crack of thunder shook the windows in your apartment, pulling him out of whatever thoughts were in his head. 

He stepped inside the door, his hands sliding around your waist. Your hands had gone up around his neck as he gathered you to him. You jumped slightly at the cold of the water, but his arms had locked around you, holding you to him. You wouldn’t ever in your life forget the way his body felt against yours.

His lips were against your hair then, as he was murmuring in a language you didn’t speak. The storm raged outside, lightning flashing and thunder crashing. Your fingers had slipped into his wet hair, offering comfort until the cold and the contact became too much. You shivered against him and he pulled away instantly. 

“I… I apologize for my manner.”

He waved his hand in the space between the two of you and you began to feel warm again. As if air currents of heat were wrapping themselves around your body. You glanced down to see your clothes were perfectly dry, even as he stood in an ever growing puddle of water. 

Magic. His magic, circling all around you.

“What’s happened?” You asked softly.  
He shook his head, looking towards the door, “Another time, perhaps.”  
You hesitated, then, even softer, “Okay.” 

It wasn’t the answer you had hoped for, but you didn’t want to push him. His eyes slid back to yours, relief and gratitude brimming in them. His long finger reached out, and slid along your jaw. It was like fireworks on your skin, sending little sparks of desire exploding through your body. You closed your eyes, leaning ever so slightly into his touch. 

“I’d very much like to kiss you,” he said, so low and soft you thought you might have imagined it.  
But your reply was out of your mouth before you could stop it. “Yes, please.” 

He stepped in close to you, one arm went around your waist again. He smelled like rain, but his touch felt like fire. His other hand slid into your hair, his long fingers pulling you towards him. He bent then, placing his mouth on yours in a manner that could only be described as tormented. 

He had broken the kiss after a few moments, but you had pressed up immediately, touching your lips against his. Soft. Tender. He allowed this for a moment, before breaking away and rubbing his nose to yours in a playful, delicate gesture that had almost undone you completely. Then his hands had moved, he cupped your elbows with his hands and pulled you away from him. 

“Forgive me,” he breathed, before disappearing out into the storm. 

The sharp bite of fingers around your upper arms, so different than his touch, brought you crashing back into the current moment. That kiss was important. Wasn’t it? The man holding you shook you slightly.

“Will he come to you?” A gruff question from your back.  
“I don’t know, I don’t control him.” You worked to keep your voice steady. “If he does, you’ll need a lot more men.”

You didn’t know where the steel edge in your voice was coming from, only that it was true. They would need more if they planned to face Loki. The fingers around your biceps tightened again and then the man holding you threw you forward. With your hands shackled behind your back you couldn’t hope to catch yourself, but you were able to turn your body, catching the pavement with your shoulder. Pain shot through your body as you pulled your knees closer, curling into yourself on the cool concrete.

A tiny sound escaping your throat, “Loki.”

It was just a whisper. A prayer to your god of mischief. He was your friend, he’d shared meals with you, laughed with you, and he had even held secrets for you. You wished he was here, right then, holding you like he had last night. 

You closed your eyes tight against the tears. 

That kiss. Surely it wasn’t the only kiss you were meant to share with him? How could life be so cruel? To give you that secret desire of your heart and then rip it away from you. But you didn’t get the chance to see in his eyes if it had meant everything to him that it had meant to you. Perhaps it hadn’t meant that much to him? 

Then you heard it. Your name. Said in a soft whisper that held devotion. Then slightly louder, this time the velvet of his voice held a sharp thread of rage. 

A gentle touch on your shoulder. The warm feeling of tiny tendrils of magic weaving around your injured shoulder. Siphoning out the sharp slivers of pain, replacing them with a peaceful heat. 

“Little one, are you hurt?” Loki’s voice, a mix of concern and fury, was so close. 

You opened your eyes to find his beautiful ones staring back at you. The jewel tones glimmering with the same mix of emotions as his voice. He was in front of you, on one knee, as graceful as every other time you had seen him. 

He wasn’t wearing his usual slim black suit. Instead he was wearing green and black leather, layered in straps all over his body. The hand that had been on your shoulder moved to your cheek, while the other was raised high and out to the side. Glancing towards it you realized everything around the two of you was chaos. But you were protected from it, sitting behind a shimmering gold field.

Shielded. By him. With him.

“How did you find me?” You whispered, bewildered.  
“You called for me.” Loki said simply, as if it was obvious. “Now, did they hurt you?”

You didn’t understand what he meant, but let him pull you up to your feet. He’s looking you over carefully, the threads of his warm magic moving between his hands and your skin. Looking in your eyes, he reaches to release your hands.

“They shouldn’t have hurt you.” His voice is sharp. A blade with a finely honed edge.

“It was only my shoulder.” You are moving it and it feels okay, probably thanks to his magic. 

“And yet. They will pay for daring to approach you. I protect those that are mine.” It’s a vow, made to you. Made for you.

Suddenly the golden shields drop away. The chaos lasts a moment longer, long enough for you to see that each man is fighting a specter of Loki. As those too disappear a moment later, all the men stop, turning in towards you. Towards the real Loki. He pulls you a step behind him, one hand lingering on your arm for a moment before dropping to his side.

“Now, that’s better.” He says to them. 

His voice has changed. Gone is the warmth that he addresses you with. Gone is the anger at your treatment. Instead he speaks coolly, his tone almost bored. This man is one you have never met. 

“Which one of you is in charge of this… operation?”  
The man with the scarred face juts out his chin, “I am.”  
“Ah.” Loki says, taking a small step forward. “So you are the one who’s going to pay first.”

He throws his hands out to the sides, low, and into each palm slides a long, beautiful dagger. His stance drops as he leans into his front foot, his eyes flashing. The men visibly pull back, clearly surprised that he had drawn his weapons.

“Whoa. We just wanted to get your attention. Let’s talk about this.” The leader says quickly.  
“The time for talk is long past.” 

He’s a blur of motion then. Attacking with a graceful fury that is as lovely as it is distressing. You hold perfectly still, not willing to distract him as he works. When the last man is running away, skin marked by those slim blades, Loki stops. He’s breathing faster, holding his body still for a moment, collecting himself, before sheathing his weapons and turning back to you.

He’s stalking towards you, his expression difficult to read. You rock back on one foot, but he’s already there, his hands gently running over your arms, checking yet again for injuries. He sweeps your hair off your shoulders, looking you over. You try to reassure him.

“I’m okay, I swear…” He cuts you off, his hands cupping your face, his lips pressing to yours.  
He says against your mouth when he pulls away, “I’ll hunt them all down if you wish it.”  
“No, don’t.” Breathless, your hands holding his to your face.

He’s so beautiful. Your breath catches in your throat, watching the emotions pass over his face. Feeling those emotions mirrored in your own. His hands on your face feel soft, gentle, and warm. His fingers rubbing tiny circles at the the curve of your jaw. He’s standing so close, you can hardly breathe.

“Loki.”

He chuckles then. His eyes sparkling with mischief and vengeance stare deep into yours. He kisses you once more, his lips soft, gentle, even as they capture and claim.

“I like the way you say my name, dear one.”


End file.
